How shall I celebrate my joy?
Or dance with feet that once were fleet
In his adorable employ?
Or laugh with lips that felt his sweet?
How can I at his lifeless face
Aim any sharp or bitter jest,
Since roguish destiny did place
That tender target in my breast?
Nay, let me be sincere and strong;
I cannot rid me of my chains,
I cannot to myself belong,
My King is dead—his soul still reigns.
The Secret
SOME chance moment life confesses
That her insect nothingnesses
Carry honey with their stings,
But ’tis only to their kings—
Those who know how best to use them,
Those who know how to refuse them—
That the secret is made free,
And souls are loosed from tyranny.
Limitation
BEYOND the far horizon’s farthest bound
A farther boundary lies;
No spirit wing can reach the utmost round,
No spirit eyes.
The soul has limitations such as space,
Such as eternity;
The farthest star to which thou setst thy face
Belongs to thee.